


Always

by liaw-mostlydead (Firefly264)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Pale Porn, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, pointless pale fluff that got really out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:44:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firefly264/pseuds/liaw-mostlydead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are intimately attuned to every aspect of your moirail, and when the mood shifts you are aware immediately.</p>
<p>Or: In which Karkat Vantas gets thoroughly snuggled by a very clingy clown,</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Hideously pale cuddles give me life, and these boys are going to be the death of me. Also on Tumblr.

You feel the change before it actually happens.

Gamzee… projects.

Not just with his freaky mind-terror shit, but with everything. He feels a thousand times harder than anyone you know, all sharp corners and ridiculously wide grins. It’s so _easy_ to hurt him; there are days when everything grates on him, too mean or too loud or too sad (like those stupid charity ads on TV; it’s all played-up drama and clichéd shots of sad wrigglers, but your idiot is almost guaranteed to at least get a little teary-eyed, every fucking time).

You are intimately attuned to every aspect of your moirail, and when the mood shifts you are aware immediately.

What you are not always aware of is where the fuck he actually is. Because the clown is somehow also a ninja, which makes no sense and would probably have Strider laughing if the guy wasn’t obviously pants-shittingly terrified of the big lug. Gamzee moves silently, barely even breathing when he’s really trying to be silent.

Wiry arms wrap around your chest, and you tense and squawk before relaxing.

Only Gamzee can get so close without backfire. Gamzee, who pulls you closer and winds his way around you, straddling your hips and burying his face into the crook of your neck. It’s intimate, almost scarily so; he wraps his way around you and seeps into your every crack and fracture, knowing every part of you and just holding you.

You know him too. You know his knobbly knees pressing against your sides, the jut of his ribs no matter how much you feed him. He’s angles and lines and wiry muscle, coiled like a snake, his fingers trailing up from top of your spine and entangling themselves in your hair. His fangs brush once across your jugular and you don’t even flinch; he draws back, fearful of hurting you (as if you’re the one afraid, as if you would ever feel anything but the brightest, burning pity for him), and you pull him close again.

You’ve memorized the beat of his heart, but you always need to hear it again. You know the exact degree to which his horns curve out and in, and could trace them a thousand times over without ever tiring of the way he melts, loose and smiling into the sensitive gap between your neck and shoulder. His purr is rusty and rumbling deep in his thorax.

You pull back, and he whines until you loop an arm around him and trace your fingertips along his sharp cheekbones and down the line of his jaw. His face is bare, unpainted, and you are struck dumb and humbled by the trust he has placed in you. Out of all the people in the universe, he’s chosen you to hold and be held by.

You grin up at him, pity a warm, gooey ball of affection in your chest. In return, his forehead presses against yours; your horns clatter together, and you both flinch before settling again.

“What is it now, you handsy fucker?” you ask, teasing but sincere.

You belatedly hope that it isn’t one of those times he can’t take being teased.

Luckily he just huffs a laugh and continues rubbing his face across yours like a meowbeast, purring loudly. One of his hands is still tangled in your hair, the other resting on your shoulder. The pad of his thumb rubs soft circles into your collarbone, brushing over the pulse of an artery.

“Missed you,” he says, mumbling as he presses soft kisses down the bridge of your nose. You feel your face burning bright red but don’t bother trying to dissuade him.

“I’ve been right here this _entire time_ , Gamzee.”

“Ngh.”

His hands are cool, cooler still compared to the heat of your blood. This close and without paint, you see the faint spots and pockmarks across his cheeks. The three scars across his face are raised and jagged, though they’ve faded with time, leaving them more pale grey than purple. You can see where the bottom one, the shortest of the three, barely missed his eye, almost blinding it.

You don’t think of how he got them. Only of how you took him by the hand and took him away from the people and the noise, cleaning him up and disinfecting those three jagged lines.

( _“Kittysis got real mad, bro. Don’t even know why I hurt him but it hurt her and I motherfucking **ended it.** ”_)

You cup his cheek in your hand.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly.

He gets lost in his own head, sometimes. Sees things, remembers what he hates having done, and it eats him alive. And when he hurts, he can’t control his response, and he projects.

He never said that to you. Those are his words, his memories of that night. The regrets and pain and deep, soul-wrenching sorrow at having hurt another person, it’s all his.

“I’m right here,” you tell him. Both hands are on his face now, smoothing out the lines between his eyebrows.

He isn’t purring anymore. He’s just staring at you with half-lidded eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leans back in, your hands moving from his face and back into his knotted mass of hair (you just cleaned and combed it two days ago, how the _fuck_ did he manage- )

Oh.

He kisses your brow, your eyelids, and the tip of your nose. His hand presses against your blood pusher, the other trailing along your jaw the way you did to him before.

“I know,” he says, leaning in and resettling his head on your shoulder. “Always got you, bro.”

You must be bright red by now, shocked by how open the fool is with his affection.

You grin and bury your face in his hair.

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sappy declarations of affection yay~~~~~


End file.
